


i crave you, i want you.

by beckhams



Series: football. — ideas. [5]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Crying, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:15:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25755700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beckhams/pseuds/beckhams
Summary: and when he cries, silently, in the dressing room bathroom, it glitters, the light catching the wetness on his face and it glitters and shines and his eyes are so brown that it will swallow you whole just looking into them, they are so bottomless, so pitiful, so empty, but the salty water is pouring down his blushed cheeks.
Relationships: Jamie Carragher/Steven Gerrard
Series: football. — ideas. [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1733986
Kudos: 6





	i crave you, i want you.

**Author's Note:**

> I am once again living vicariously through Jamie carragher. listen I saw one (1) photo of stevie from 1998/1999 and my brain Can Not let me forget it so I had to get that out some how. has it helped? no, my thoughts are still just 'steven gerrard 1998/1999' on repeat but I tried :/
> 
> this is sorta based of the whole 'steven gerrard is the best captain and he's never cried before because he's a manly man' stereotype bc I know for a Fact he's a lil bitch boy <3 I love him sm so I can say that

this is home and your breath is coming out clouded and your shirt is bloody red and stevie is yelling over at you with that curl to his voice, that accent that matches your's and this is home.

he jogging along the line of the pitch, moving out of position but he's so _good_ no one calls him out on it, in fact it's what makes him so good.

his hair is longer than you remember or maybe it's always been like that and you've just forgotten how he is, but you know him better than you know yourself, it's gotten longer and it's cut at the sides and maybe that's a new style he's going for, or maybe he forced one of the other lads to do it because stevie always complains about hair around his ears but he likes it in his eyes.

his eyes are brighter too, more hopeful and it's been months (years?) since you've seen him like that, wound up with excitement, tied tight with hope, about to burst with _want_. and it's beautiful, in that admirable way.

(and it's beautiful, in that desirable way.)

_you could pop his bubble,_ you think to yourself, _you could pop his bubble and he'd come crashing down._

but you've always been an optimistic person, and even when you aren't optimistic, it's too painful to be the one to ruin someone else's dream, you've not got the heart for it. you've especially not got the heart to break stevie's dream. to break stevie.

and he's bursting at the seams, that excitement, that bubbling anticipation and you can almost feel it radiating off him. and maybe you want to feel it too, to understand why his brown eyes are shining so brightly.

you want to understand him. unwrap every layer of him until you're met with the true core of him, until you can feel and touch and _understand_ him, until you can see the gears that click in his head and you can hear his breathing and feel his heart pumping and his headache thumping against him and feel the pain blossoming from where he got stabbed with studs during a tackle.

and you want so desperately that it will take over you, the greed will consume you and it will ruin you to the very end and what a way to go? the most merciful way, and it hurts to look at him but you keep your eyes on him anyways because he's demanding attention with his light flicks of the ball and his passes and his _smiles_. 

the fans are chanting and they're screeching and you might as well join them, you might as well go and sit next to them and scream with them because you're just as impressed by him, you're just as proud.

_liverpool through and through,_ is what they say, _he's a liverpool boy._

and maybe he is, maybe he has _**LIVERPOOL**_ tattooed on his ribs, branded on his heart and scratched onto his skin, but you're initials are right next to it. he's as much of liverpool's as he is your's.

you're possessive, and rightfully so (in your opinion) because they may yell and scream and have **_GERARD_** on the jersey they spent their paycheck on, but he's _your's_. he's wrapped tight with you, and you almost want to shy him away from the fans' grabbing hands.

you're falling helplessly into him, you're falling into what he is offering but he is not offering to only you, he hands to the world all he can do and stands for their judgement. you want so badly that it will split you, rip you, you want so badly it might even choke you.

and when you lose, when the other team nets the ball, you lose everything and your shirt is too blood red that it feels like your blood, they might as well have stabbed you and the look stevie is giving is the dagger.

and when he cries, silently, in the dressing room bathroom, it glitters, the light catching the wetness on his face and it glitters and shines and his eyes are so brown that it will swallow you whole just looking into them, they are so bottomless, so pitiful, so empty, but the salty water is pouring down his blushed cheeks.

you pull him close, tucking his face into your shoulder as if that will be any help, as if that will be any comfort, and you're almost pleading for him to stop because his tears are stinging your skin almost like punishment for even letting him cry in the first place.

the tears burn on your skin, and he won't stop and he's breathing heavy and it's hot and heavy against your neck and you rub soothing circles on his back and he's shaking and he's so quiet. 

he's so good at suffering quietly that the silence is roped around your neck, almost killing you with it, the silence is somehow worse than if he was yelling or sobbing. he's shaking so badly your scared he's going to shatter and he's so quiet he might as well not even be crying. and your ears are ringing and there's that screech of silence. 

_please, calm down. please, say something._

you can hear the rest of the team in the changing room, and shouting at each other, passing the blame, at some point you hear stevie's name be shouted around but he doesn't budge. and when he finally pulls away, he shrugs his jersey sleeves over his hands and wipes away the tears, and he let's you hug him briefly before he splashes water on his face and leaves.

and somehow the bathroom stall is so much more cramped when it's just you, you are suffocating with the guilt of him and you can't catch your breath, and the team are screaming at this point, slurs and curses and you can hear stevie trying to settle them down and he's getting so desperate, almost begging them to stop.

and then it goes quiet.

and the manager enters, quickly making them organise themselves, standing at their lockers and half of them are undressed and the other half haven't even taken off their shin pads and he's looking them over, taking them in. 

"where is carragher?" 

stevie pipes up when no one else answers and you can hear them through the silence, "he's in the bathroom, he needed a minute."

"well," the gaffer sighs, "carragher! get here now!" 

and you whipe down your face with your sleeve before leaving the stall. your hands are already sweaty and your hair is sweaty and you feel dirty. 

_god, i want a shower._

you sit next to stevie on the bench and when the gaffer yells at you all for not doing a good enough job you almost interrupt to say that it's not stevie's fault but you stay closed lipped and hope that stevie just _knows_ he's the thread that sews them together. 

and when you finally get to your hotel room, he's still shaking silently and he let's you pull him close, and he let's you hold him and he clings so desperately and you both need this. 

and he's warm, his skin is warm, so hot that it will burn you and it does when you touch him but you lay next to him in the overpriced bed and you hold him and hope you are pressing all your love into him.

_please, say something._

and he says nothing, eventually drifting off, and his skin looks so much more paler than it used to and somehow he's been drained even before he got tired, and you want, you want so desperately for _something_ but most of all you want him to be happy. 

you press a kiss to his cheek and he moves for a second before calming down again and you can still see the tear tracks on his face. and you can suddenly see it, you can see how young he is, you remember he's only 19 and it hurts to look at him. 

and you want. you want so desperately. you want so badly it will kill you. 

**Author's Note:**

> stevie's just a very lovely boy isn't he


End file.
